“You need to be happy.” I need my thoughts to stop wrapping themselves into a noose around my brain.
“You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself.” I need my stomach to stop growling. Besides, dead girls don’t eat.
“You need to stop sleeping so much.” I need my eyes to roll into the back of my head, permanently. Maybe then I can literally see my self-destruction from the inside, out. All while being blinded to the disgusting hell-scape that is the outside world.
“You need to talk more.” I need my tongue, so swollen from lies and empty promises, severed, so I can choke on my own rotten blood.
“You need to do something with your life.” I need to stop being so contradicting with myself by writing poems about suicide and finally commit.